College is coming soon, and Blake Warner is sure that his life is embedded into the dead-end that is Merritt Hills, Georgia. His mother has assured him millions of times, that money has nothing to do with where his future leads.
But whenever he lie...
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Brooks couldn't breathe. He held a hand to his overworked chest, as Blake's lips never uncurled from their enticing, yet coiling grin. Brooks now held a hand to his forehead, as miniature beads of sweat fell, due to the events that had taken place in his home.
His thoughts returned back to Jackson, whose nose had been bleeding profusely, and whose eyes, and mouth, had been begging for Brooks' help.
This had Brooks' heart racing out of his chest, as guilt overcame him. "W-Wait, Blake—stop! Stop, we have to go back. We have to go back, Jackson's hurt. You hurt Jackson, and now we have to go back and help him!"
Blake shook his head, reaching for Brooks' flailing forearm with his free hand. "Hell no! That douche who is nowhere near as good of a friend as you thought, deserves what he just got."
"And what about you, huh?" Brooks' words were clear, yet Blake hadn't been expecting them at all. "You leave me at the lake, which by the way, is miles away from my house, then you punch my best friend in the face? You're in no position to judge Jackson."
Blake's movements are sudden, as he pulls out onto the side of the deserted road, his eyes finding Brooks' now flushed cheeks. "Really? Me, the only person who isn't neglecting your home situation, is in no position to judge Jackson Fuller, the person who claims to care about you, yet he and his shit parents haven't bothered to help at all?"
Brooks doesn't speak, his chin beginning to wobble on it's own accord. He wished that Blake would understand where he was coming from—Jackson had been his best, and only friends since they were just adolescent children.
How could he turn his back to him now? How could Brooks act as though he had no recollection of the good times they'd had together, of the ups and downs they had experienced. Was he supposed to just forget about all of that?
Brooks shifts his weight, focusing on the darkness surrounding Blake's car, as the two now ride in silence.
Blake watches this in the corner of his eye, careful not to let his gaze drift too much from the direct sight before him. "Look, if you really wanna go back, and coddle that piece of shit—I'll take you back home. But if you wanna forget about all of the people that have hurt you, or watched you be hurt from the sidelines, come to my place. We can eat a ton of fast-food and watch reruns."
Brooks blinks. Once, twice, eyes wide and wondering if those words were actually coming out of Blake's dark, and full lips. Yes is at the tip of his tongue, as his head is practically begging him to both say no, and walk—run away from the situation.
Blake watched in absolute amusement as Brooks pondered over his options. He knew that going back to Jackson, would result in an inevitable lecture, or even Jackson putting the idea into his head that Blake was a horrible, and insensitive delinquent.
Sure, those things were true, but Brooks still couldn't stop his lips from beginning their punishing wording. "Okay."
Blake understood completely, a smirk making its way onto those familiar lips that Brooks couldn't stop staring at. "Buckle the fuck up, Brooky."
